Darkest Romance
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: Love is beautiful, addictive, painful, difficult and above all, dangerous. Thirteen short Bellamort pieces, written for rarepair-shorts at livejournal. Now complete.
1. Crossing the Line

Author's Notes: Written for rarepair_shorts at livejournal (because the forums here are down, so I have to feed my challenge whorishness somewhere)

This shall be a collection of 13 drabbles/ficlets, all Bellamort, updated whenever I feel like all my other works in progress just aren't overwhelming enough.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Title**: Crossing the Line  
**Prompt**: Invisible Line  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word Count**: 167  
**Summary**: The Dark Lord is lenient with Bellatrix, but she is in danger if she crosses the line.

)O(

From the very first night Bellatrix was instructed to come to the Dark Lord's chambers, to go before him and submit in a way that no other Death Eater was told to, she had known that she could get away with more than the others. She knew more of the Dark Lord than her fellows did, and he granted her more lenience than he did them. She could tease, or scratch, or bite, and he would humour her, so long as, in the end, she did submit to him – which she always did.

But there was a line, a line Bellatrix could not cross. It was so easy to take things a step too far, try to force him to hold out just a moment too long, bite just the tiniest bit too hard…

She always knew immediately when she had crossed that invisible line, because it was then that the Dark Lord would stop humouring her, and when he stopped, things became very ugly, very fast.


	2. Decline from Lover

**Title**: Decline From Lover  
**Prompt**: The Decline of All Things  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word Count**: 255  
**Summary**: At first, their romance was passionate…

)O(

At first, Bellatrix had been pleased – more than pleased – with how things were with the Dark Lord. She did not crave recognition from anyone else. She was happy to know that she was his favoured Death Eater, and all that mattered to her was that he knew that too.

And, at first, he did. For all the coldness that he projected to the world, he seemed genuinely interested in Bellatrix. He tested her limits as she tested his, curious as to how she would react to him, and this pleased Bellatrix. It meant he showed interest in her, and that was all she cared about.

But all good things came to an end, and it was not long before the novelty of having such an eager and willing lover wore off for the Dark Lord. He lost interest in the passion that had filled their early trysts, and Bellatrix's role quickly declined to simply following his directions to give him pleasure. She tried to inject passion into her actions – even the most mechanical of them – but he would not react. He scarcely seemed to notice her anymore.

On the increasingly rare occasions that Bellatrix was permitted to sleep in the Dark Lord's bed – not to touch him, not to drift off in his arms, no, nothing of that sort, simply to share the bed – she cried into her pillow, for could see the way things had declined.

Where once she had been the Dark Lord's lover, now she was scarcely so much as his whore.


	3. That Which We Call a Name

**Title**: That Which We Call a Name  
**Prompt**: What's his name?  
**Rating**: Hard R  
**Word Count**: 304  
**Summary**: One wrong word can ruin a moment.

)O(

The Dark Lord is on top of her, and she is in heaven.

His fingers, strong and cool on her flesh, scratch her pale skin, his nails dig into her breasts and his teeth scrape at the skin of her throat, all as he thrusts smoothly, steadily, in and out of her.

Bellatrix has her own hands knotted in the sheets, knowing all too well that he is in no mood to be touched. She can tell by the way he moves, and the way he does not meet her eyes, that the sex between them is, to him, nothing more than a means for him by which to relieve stress and anger without having to show such weakness to anyone else. Bellatrix knows this, but she doesn't care, because she is happy with knowing that the Dark Lord considers her to be good enough for him.

She arches against him, gasping and feeling her body tighten as he brushes against a particularly sensitive spot inside her. "M- mmm…"

He ignores her, but she is too far gone to care, losing herself in a fantasy world where she means everything to him. That speeds her to her climax, and she cries out as stars burst in front of her eyes and her body trembles with ecstasy.

"Tom!"

By the time she realizes the word has left her lips, it is far too late to take it back. The Dark Lord has pulled away from her, looking at her with scorn and disgust.

"Oh…" She sat up quickly, gasping for air. "My Lord- forgive me–"

He says nothing, turns away from her, and Bellatrix feels her throat constrict with emotion. "My Lord, I did not mean to–"

"I know," he told her, no hint of feeling at all in his voice. "Get out."


	4. On Hiding Emotion

**Title**: On Hiding Emotion  
**Prompt**: As a City on a Hill  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count**: 260  
**Summary**: Bellatrix can try to justify her behaviour with rationality, but it is easy to see through.

)O(

Emotions were scorned by the Dark Lord, and for good reason. They clouded judgement. They complicated matters that should have been simple, and they made it difficult to come to the right decisions. The heart was a handicap to the mind.

It was, however, a necessary handicap. No one – not even the Dark Lord – could erase emotion completely. They could only mask it, suppress it, ignore it. And while the Dark Lord was so skilled at doing this that there were times in which Bellatrix believed he felt nothing at all, despite knowing differently, she found that she herself showed her feelings far to easily.

When she had tried, early on, to justify what she felt for – _what she was doing with_ – the Dark Lord to others, she had told them in no uncertain terms that it was solely a logical course of action.

"I am lying with him because it will bring us honour, power and safety," she told Rodolphus – poor, tearful Rodolphus – when he begged her to explain why she preferred the Dark Lord to him.

"That's not true," Rodolphus had said, and, though Bellatrix maintained that it was, she had to admit that her reasons were far beyond that. She had tried to conceal them behind a façade of only caring for the power he could bring, but Rodolphus could see all too clearly what she felt for their Master.

As a city that is set upon a hill cannot be hidden, so Bellatrix could not hide what she felt, no matter how hard she tried to.


	5. Self Aware

**Title**: Self-Aware**  
Prompt**: Meanwhile  
**Rating**: R  
**Word Count**: 464  
**Summary**: The Dark Lord tests how aware Bellatrix is of her weakness

)O(

"Wait for me," the Dark Lord had said to Bellatrix after the night's meeting. He had looked pointedly at the door to his bedroom, and Bellatrix's heart had swelled with excitement. She had wasted no time in rushing to his chambers, then, intending to surprise and please him when he came in, stripping off her clothing and stretching enticingly on the bed.

But she lay in bed and waited eagerly, and he did not come back to the room.

As hours ticked by and Bellatrix lay alone, she started to panic – _what if something has happened to him_? But she knew nothing had. He was simply not there. He had told her to go to his chambers and then left her hanging. _The Dark Lord doesn't care about me._

At first, she managed to dismiss it – something had come up and he was being slowed down, perhaps – but being left alone in his chambers brought back the memories of how he behaved before – how he shunned her and scorned her and _did not love her._

Tears leaked from Bellatrix's eyes, and she hastily wiped them away with the backs of her hands. She curled up, resigned to the idea that he would not come to bed, but unwilling to leave. Her arms wrapped around a pillow, pulling it to her chest the way a child might clutch a stuffed animal, and tried to imagine it to be the Dark Lord.

Even in her state of misery and sleep deprivation, it did not work in the slightest, and she had not expected it to. The pillow was soft and warm where her Lord was strong and his skin cool. But it was the best Bellatrix had, and she buried her face in it, crying over his absence.

With her face pressed into the soft fabric, sick with frustration, Bellatrix reached down and put her hand between her legs, teasing herself gently. She pushed two fingers inside, and she closed her eyes and tried her best to imagine it was the Dark Lord touching her like this.

_Pathetic. You're pathetic._

How could she blame the Dark Lord for not wanting her? What man as powerful as the Dark Lord would ever want a weak little girl like her? _She_ would not have wanted herself, if she were him, she thought, even as she increased the pace of her hand. _Look at yourself, lying in a man's bed, pillow over your face, hands in between your legs – you look like a child!_

Bellatrix sobbed into the pillow as she tightened and arched against her fingers.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Manor, the Dark Lord sat in his study, knowing what she was feeling and glad at least that Bellatrix was aware of her own weakness.


	6. What Hurts Most

**Title**: What Hurts Most  
**Prompt**: And Now, For Something Completely Different  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word Count**: 210  
**Summary**: Things would be so much easier if he were consistent in how he treated her…

)O(

With time, Bellatrix got used to how things were with her and the Dark Lord. She learned to take whatever he gave her – the pain right along with the pleasure. She learned to enjoy it, even, convincing her body and mind to take pleasure in being subservient to him, despite it going against everything she had learned as a Black. It wasn't so difficult, really, to train herself to turn into a masochist, letting herself enjoy how harshly he treated her. She convinced herself that she didn't care.

But then, just when she thought she had gotten used to him, things would change. He would lie in bed with her and talk to her and hold her. He would tell her she was his favourite, his most faithful, that no other Death Eater – no other woman – could ever do for him what she could. And Bellatrix would believe him, let herself believe that she was so important to him.

And then, as soon as she became comfortable with that, he would change tactics again, striking her or calling her worthless or pathetic, telling her that she was hardly worth keeping. And that hurt more than it would have if he never acted as though he cared about her at all.


	7. The Raven Lands

**Title**: The Raven Lands  
**Prompt**: Quoth the Raven  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count**: 148  
**Summary**: Is it a lost love if it never existed?

)O(

Bellatrix sat in her chambers, gazing out her window and lost in misery. She was weak and weary and the only thing that would have made her happy at that moment was to be in her Lord's arms.

But, of course, she could not be.

Because he did not desire her.

She buried her face in her hands and her body shook with suppressed tears. _Oh, God, my Lord, why have you left me?_

Well, she thought, perhaps it was unfair to say that he had left her. He couldn't leave her when he had never really been with her in the first place.

Outside her window, a raven swooped down to perch upon the skeletal branch of a tree. It let out a throaty rattle, and through the glass, in Bellatrix's state of emotional anguish, she could have sworn she heard it say the Dark Lord's name.


	8. Stricken

**Title**: Stricken  
**Pairing**: Bellatrix/Voldemort  
**Prompt**: Swirling to Nowhere  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word Count**: 264  
**Summary**: He hits her, and she blames herself.

)O(

She angered him once.

No, she angered him many times, but his control prevented him from demonstrating the full force of his wrath. Even when she crossed his lines, he rarely resorted to physical violence.

Except…

Arguing had been foolish, she thought later. She had demanded to know why he did not appreciate her – did he not _want_ her? If she had only given herself time to think, she would have realized that no good could come of confronting the Dark Lord for not paying enough attention to her.

The fight had escalated. Bellatrix, in her stubbornness, had refused to back down, insisting that he should be a better lover to her. She should have seen his temper running higher and higher, his patience wearing thin, but she did not.

She had never been hit before.

Even as a child, when discipline was needed, it was the Cruciatus curse that was used, not a slap. Rodolphus would never _dare_ to try to harm her, and the Dark Lord's slaps when she and he were in the throes of lovemaking could scarcely be said to count.

But he hit her then.

She fell to the floor with the force of it, clutching her nose, which bled onto her hands. The Dark Lord swept out, leaving her to drag herself into the bathroom to wash the blood away.

She stared at the red liquid, dripping from her nose and lips into the water, and watched it swirl to nowhere, disappearing down the drain, never to be seen again.

She wished that she could disappear that easily.


	9. Shame Upon Her

**Title**: Shame Upon Her  
**Prompt**: Unidentified Falling Object  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word Count**: 258  
**Summary**: It hurts when he mocks her.

)O(

He used her lusts to shame her.

It was not an unusual practice, perhaps, to bring shame upon a woman by telling her that her desires were unseemly, but it hurt Bellatrix particularly badly when it came from the Dark Lord.

It was painful enough when they were in bed and he hissed that she was a slut and a whore, but she knew then that he was only speaking that way to remind her that even though he was allowing her to enjoy pleasures of the flesh with him, she was unworthy and should not allow herself to think that she was somehow _good_ enough for him.

It hurt far more when he insulted her before his Death Eaters.

She was driven almost to tears when he called attention to her gender and hinted to the men that the only reason she was given such a high position among the ranks was that she was a woman and could satisfy him.

After one particularly painful session of mockery, she sat in the gardens, the darkness a comforting presence around her, shielding her from their scorn.

She thought she saw something from the corner of her eye, falling through the sky, and whipped her head around to look for it, but by the time she turned, it was already gone.

Maybe it had been a falling star.

When Bellatrix was little, Mother used to tell her that when someone died, a star fell.

She wasn't dead, but when the Dark Lord shamed her, she wished that she was.


	10. Inky Illogic

**Title**: Inky Illogic  
**Prompt**: Black ink  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count**: 254  
**Summary**: Why should it matter if she isn't behaving normally?

)O(

Bellatrix was skilled at keeping her feelings under wraps. She never showed anyone, ever, how she felt about the Dark Lord – oh, many people knew she had feelings for him, but no one could ever even have _guessed_ how deep those feelings were.

It was not difficult to hide them.

But one night, Bellatrix was spurned one too many times. She found herself leaving his chambers in tears, and when she rushed home, she went immediately to Rodolphus's study. With shaking hands, she pulled from his desk all the ink that he had, and a quill pen.

When Rodolphus found her, she was kneeling on the floor, drawing on her own flesh with the black ink. Bellatrix had used up three bottles of it already, covering her body completely in swirls and words and designs and, over and over until not an inch of skin was bare of it, the Dark Mark.

Rodolphus assumed it had been some sort of panic attack or psychotic episode, and as Bellatrix never repeated the act, he assumed it was nothing to be worried about.

Bellatrix knew better.

She hadn't covered herself in ink in an act of foolish insanity.

She had done it because she had hoped – in perhaps the most illogical part of herself – that if she just painted herself with the Dark Lord's mark enough times, if she made it permanent upon herself, if she made it as clear as clear could be that she considered herself _his_, then he would take her as such.


	11. The Best Night

**Title**: The Best Night  
**Prompt**: When the Clock Strikes One  
**Rating**: R  
**Word Count**: 222  
**Summary**: It's just possible that _maybe_ he feels something.

)O(

When Bellatrix was summoned to the Dark Lord's chambers, as happened too often for her not to be proud and too rarely for her to take pleasure in it, he told her that by one o'clock in the morning, she should be gone from his bedroom.

"Yes, Master," was her instant reply. Why should she question him, after all? It would do her no good, and it was scarcely eleven o'clock. She should have been grateful. She _was_ grateful.

She lay in his bed, gasping with ecstasy as he took her roughly, digging her nails into her palms to keep herself from grasping him, closing her eyes and breathing deeply to stave off climax until he gave her permission.

When he finished, he pulled out and away from her immediately and she began to sit up, but his arms moved around her waist. Bellatrix froze, confused.

"Lie with me," he told her, his voice as calm and emotionless as ever.

She did, nervously allowing herself to relax against him, heart beating quickly. He had never before expressed desire for physical intimacy outside of sex, and it raised the tiniest bubble of hope in her core that maybe, just _maybe_ he felt something for her.

When the clock struck one and his arms were still around her, Bellatrix could have wept with happiness.


	12. Pathetic Girl

**Title**: Pathetic Girl  
**Prompt**: The Haunted Corner  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word Count**: 269  
**Summary**: It's all happened before, over and over.

)O(

"I didn't mean to, Master!" she cried desperately. Bellatrix loathed crying before him, but tears streamed down her cheeks nonetheless. "I did not mean to fail you–"

"Silence!"

She pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle screams as he forced the Cruciatus curse upon her, her body contorting and buckling.

"You are nothing!" he hissed. "You are worthless! I do not know why I ever took you – what use did I _ever_ think I would have for such a pathetic little girl?"

She tried to stifle her tears, but though his words made her want with all her heart to be strong for him, they cut so deeply that she was off in fresh waves of tears. _He's right. I am pathetic._

"I beg your mercy, Master," she whispered. He only looked away from her with scorn.

Bellatrix shivered, dragging herself across the floor and drawing back into the corner of his bedchamber, bracing herself for his next curse. Blood dripped down her arms, leaving glistening streaks on the dark wood, and she sniffed slightly.

The Dark Lord paid her no mind. He had taken out his anger upon her, and now she was of no interest to him. He swept out, and left Bellatrix in the corner with his violence painting her body.

Her hand moved automatically to touch the wall. It was caked in her blood from the thousand times before that he had done this to her, had hurt her.

The corner was haunted with the memories of the ways that she had failed him and the ways that he had made her pay.


	13. Only Not

**Title**: Only Not  
**Prompt**: Only Not  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count**: 201  
**Summary**: It's almost like he loves her.  
**Author's Notes**: What is this? Gamma… _finished_ something? How unusual!

)O(

All Bellatrix's logic told her that she should not allow him to treat her the way that he did. She _could_ have stood up to him – he would not have killed her for it. Punished her, perhaps, but it would not have been anything she couldn't stand. She could have saved herself.

But she wouldn't.

Because for all the ways he hurt her, in spite of everything he did that should have made her hate him – almost _did_ make her hate him, sometimes – and certainly made her hate herself, she could not give up what she had when she was with him.

Yes, he would mock her and hurt her and scorn her. Yes, he could bring her near to tears over and over again and never feel a shred of remorse for it. Yes, there were times – so many times – when it seemed as though he hated her.

But then he would kiss her, or even just give her a little smile or an approving nod, and it was almost as though everything he ever did to hurt her and every reason that she hated to love him disappeared completely.

And it was almost like he loved her.

Only not.

)O(

_Fin_


End file.
